Punk Rock Poetry 2: Space Travel is Boring
by L0C
Summary: The second woman in Harper's life.


Title: Punk Rock Poetry #2: Space Travel is Boring  
  
Author: L0C  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: The second woman in Harper's life.   
  
Series: Punk Rock Poetry: It's about Harper and girls. This is the second one.   
  
Spoilers: None. I think.   
  
Content Warning: None.   
  
Disclaimer: Andromeda is property of Tribune.  
  
When Seamus was seventeen, he wandered into Boston proper, away from the home on the north side of the river, in earth all gray brown and black.   
  
  
  
He found work with a metal detector, finding land mines. To be dug up, or de mined, or something. It was a cash-only, no flak jacket nothing kind of job, where a good day was coming home alive.   
  
  
  
Whatever.   
  
He slept on his cousin's floor, in the subway tunnel, while his cousin and a girl with natty brown hair and earthly coloured skin snuggled together.   
  
He'd listen to the sounds of skin on skin and the blankets rustling in the dark and feel like breaking things, but it went away pretty quick.   
  
Sometimes in the day he would get lost staring at the girl's deep brown skin and wondering what it felt like, until she told him to stop staring 'cause it was rude.   
  
Well.   
  
He had never been particularly polite, it's just that no one ever believed him. And he needed to smile- he needed the laugh.   
  
There was a lot more to do in Boston proper. A lot more people actually trying to sell you things, like you actually had money. Not that the word 'money' meant a whole hell of a lot on Earth anymore, except for the times that it meant everything.   
  
When a girl was killed for not bringing back enough, or the person who killed her had so much that he could get away with it. When someone sold their mother or father or children or brother or sister for a few guilder.   
  
Then money meant something.   
  
Only people who had money said things like "money can't buy happiness."   
  
That was all Seamus knew...looking for money to buy happiness. He needed the laugh.   
  
Whatever.   
  
He started drinking Sparky Cola, when a small stand was up in front of the subway entries. Soon it was all he did, drink Sparky, he worked for it and lived for it.   
  
It was sticky sweet and oh so dark, dark enough that you couldn't see where you were going, dark enough that you could forget who you were, dark enough that you could drown in it. Fizzy and bubbly and it popped down his throat leaving a burning trail. Pour it on the ground and watch it eventually eat through the concrete, and that's what it was doing to his insides.   
  
Whatever.   
  
He needed the laugh.   
  
Seamus won two tickets to a far off moon somewhere through a promotion with Sparky Cola.   
  
They were third class.   
  
And only one way.   
  
But Seamus still smiled like he never had before.   
  
Seamus was going to bring his cousin but he- his cousin- had gotten the girl with the natty brown hair pregnant. He- his cousin- screwed up his face distastefully at the word pregnant. But Seamus somehow thought it was funny. He needed the laugh.   
  
So Seamus sold the other ticket to a wayward fugitive Nietzschean for a meal and a Sparky.   
  
Well, actually he sold the ticket to a wayward fugitive Nietzschean for not getting beat. He could fight, but he wasn't stupid.   
  
Whatever.   
  
The first day on the ship was very exciting. Padded seats, metal everything, a deep black stretch speckled with white.   
  
Oh that metal, those stars, that expanse of unforgiving blackness.   
  
There was no one to talk to. Well, there was, but they just didn't.   
  
By the sixth day he was bouncing off the walls. All he had to drink was Sparky, you see.   
  
By the tenth day he was talking to his face in a mirror, and the other passengers laughed at him.   
  
Whatever. He had given them laughter.   
  
They landed on that moon- which was far more sleazy and desolate than Seamus had imagined, but just as affluent- and left him there.   
  
He got a job at a warehouse, moving cargo on and off of lunky, inelegant ships.   
  
He buried his head in books and flexis and pretending to know what quadratic equations were.Until he figured them out, of course.   
  
He met her there, the Captain of the Eureka Mar, just as lunky and inelegant.   
  
He told her his name was Harper, because he thought it made him seem older.   
  
She had blonde hair and valleys in her skin that told of years of hardships. An expensive looking shirt that covered her belly but exposed her arms. Strong arms, willfull, with hands that moved across control boards like a dancer.   
  
Oh those hands, that hair, that expanse of unforgiving blackness.   
  
She took him out for Sparky now and then.   
  
We, most of us, have been addicted to cola at some point- the sticky sweet blackness in which to forget yourself, lose yourself, drown yourself. Fizzy and bubbly and pops down your throat with a burning trail. Pour it on a piece of candy and watch it fizzle away, and that's what it's doing to your insides.   
  
Whatever.   
  
It took a week to load everything on and unload everything off.   
  
The Maru, that is.   
  
Sometime in that window of opportunity Harper for it into his head to flirt with her. The Captain. He didn't think he could love her, you see, or anyone else for that matter,   
  
She stared at him with those icy blue eyes and Harper wondered if he would have to fight someone. He hadn't fought anyone since winning those tickets, and he wondered if he could still do it.   
  
But she only laughed.   
  
Oh, whatever!   
  
She laughed and Harper smirked ruefully. Fakely.   
  
Then she put an arm around his shoulders and said she wasn't interested.   
  
"But I could use the laughter."   
  
So that worked out. Because he could've used the laughter, too. 


End file.
